Author name: herminekurotowa
Artist name: liliaeth
Word count: 3,000+
Warnings: institutionalised slavery, evil!Jared, slave!Jensen
Disclaimer: If I would own anything or anyone depicted in this work of fiction, believe me, I'd do other stuff.
Summary: Jensen would gladly change places with Jared if he could. Jared likes Jensen where he is.
Author's note: Written for slaveexchange. Somewhere on the way, I lost the prompt. *headdesk* It was something like "Jared enjoys auctions too much. Jensen wakes up on a stage."
My biggest thanks to my brilliant beta andiivalo who taught me a lot about erasing commas :)
The fetching art was created by the wonderful liliaeth and you wouldn't believe how happy I feel because she chose me for her art. ♥ Bow to her genius here.
AO3 is here
There's nothing better than the buzz of a slave auction. The smell of fear and eagerness in the air, the taste of blood and tears; the laughter of the would-be owners, cries of soon-to-be sold slaves... It's heady, exciting and Jared revels in the atmosphere.
He settles back in his comfy chair, wishing the vibrantly colored cocktail in his hand was beer. A voice pipes up to his right.
“It will be a magnificent auction, don't you think?”
Turning his head, Jared sees that it's a young man, in fact too young for this kind of entertainment but his attire and posture scream money. The guy's gaze is lingering on him, Enhanced eyeballs sucking in every little detail.
Jared detests Enhancements. People using them just try to imitate nature with technical and technological means but for Jared, it feels like cheating on their own deficiencies. His glare is completely un-Enhanced but cold enough to make the guy falter and backtrack, mumbling a sorry excuse.
In one of the VIP booths he can see the Chau family. They're surrounded by broad-shouldered bodyguards and tiny Asian girls, there only to provide arm candy for. In the midst of is the head of the clan. He's sitting in his chair, unimpressed and apparently bored. Jared lifts his drink in salute and Osric nods politely.
In the next booth the Italians celebrate the birth of Mark Pellegrino's first grand-child. A little boy, if Jared remembers correctly. Pellegrino, aka the Sicilian Devil is already inebriated but Jared knows for a fact that he was born in Canada. He's never so much as set foot on Sicilian soil.
There are almost no Enhanced in the Chau family, whereas the Italians teem with them. It's an interesting subject to muse on but Jared's attention is drawn to yet another booth where a couple of stern priests wait. They look almost regal as they wait for the auction to begin.
That's a new one. Jared always thought priests obtained their acolytes among the orphans and the unlucky bastard children of the upper class. He never supposed they'd buy their recruits.
He grins softly as he sinks back in his chair, the leather smooth and warm. It's going to be fun watching all these conceited jerks after the auction, when the shit hits the fan.
Yesterday, if someone asked Jensen if his life was boring, he'd have said yes. If they'd asked whether he wanted adventure, he'd have said hell yes.
That was yesterday.
Today, he'd say fuck off, and go back to his studies, to his boring, low paid job at the diner.
Today, he'd be grateful for a new head.
Groaning, he tries to grab his head but he can't. He tries to shift position but he can't. He tries to open his eyes, but he... No, wait; his eyes are open but he can't see.
There's a haze, some kind of barrier between his senses and his mind. The world around him might be light or dark, cold or noiseless but he can't tell. His arms aren't bound behind him but his wrists are lying on the small of his back. He can't... fucking... move... them.
He's not restrained in any way but he can't move a single hair on his own. And there's a strange weight round his throat, tight enough to almost impede his breathing. With a shock he recognizes the pose he's assuming, on his knees with his back straight, his hands behind his back and head slightly bowed. He's seen it often enough to recognize it, though his parents treat their slaves more like farm hands.
It's the slave pose and the weight around his neck, it's a collar.
The haze in his mind is beginning to dissipate and his senses are beginning to register clearly. He doesn't like what he sees one bit. It's a hardwood floor, the kind used for stages and daises. He hears a murmur in the room, background noise like in a theater. Cool air across his body makes him shiver.
Jensen's kneeling in the slave position on a stage. He's collared and... Naked.
He wants to panic. He needs to panic. He needs to suck in deep lungfuls of air but his chest is rising and falling steadily. Something is inhibiting his panic. He wants to vomit, but he can't do that either.
The master of ceremonies takes to the stage. He's a small guy with weird hair and when he addresses the room it's in a slurred voice. Jared snorts, thinks he's most probably drunk.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to Morgan's Fine Auctions where we offer only the best merchandise. My name is Curtis. I'm your host for tonight and I'll guide you through our exciting event. On stage tonight we have a selection of the finest males from the entire county. Next Sunday at 8 pm you'll be able to purchase one of twenty-five most beautiful females. You'll be able to taste the girls at 3 pm and we offer dinner à la carte to sate any additional needs.”
The curtain raises and Jared can see two dozen men on stage, most in a state of nakedness. A few are bound or shackled but every one of them is collared. He can feel anxiety and fear coming off them. It mixes with the thrill of excited anticipation from the audience.
Choked panic spikes through the heady mix of emotions and Jared pins it down to a fair-haired exhibit in the stage's corner. With the view afforded by his privileged position, Jared can admit that he's beautiful, all pale skin and muscled limbs. As he turns his head, Jared can see he's still a boy, younger than Jared, and there's panic in his eyes.
Now that's why he came here. That's what he came for and that's exactly the slave he'll buy.
He realizes the guy behind has noticed the same slave when the palpable vibe of desire wafts over. He won't get the chance to buy him though because he's Jared's. He's all Jared's.
Two assistants usher a bulky man to the edge of the stage. He's muscled and tattooed, skin glistening with oil as he stands proudly, almost regally. Jared immediately loses interest in him.
“This is our first item, Ty,”
The auctioneer is reading off a card in his hands. “He offers five years by choice. His Enhanced strength makes him perfect for heavy work but no sexual favors included. Bidding starts at fifteen thousand.”
Jensen's head is clearing now and he can assess his situation.
Never did he think the stories were true. He's heard of people getting abducted by slave mongers, of young girls vanishing off the streets and young men dropping off the face of the earth. He always thought they were urban legends, told only to scare children.
Apparently, they're all true.
He can't remember what happened. Last thing he recalls was hurrying from the library to the diner, late for his shift. Now he's on the verge of being illegally sold as a slave.
There are slaves on Jensen's family's farm since they're cheaper than farm hands. His parents treat them more like employees and they're the lucky ones. There are laws against abuse but Jensen knows how these men and women are usually treated in spite of them. It's not nice.
He still can't lift his head but can turn it a little bit in order to see what's out there. Beyond the glaring spotlights that make his eyes water, there are people sitting at tables. They're drinking, smoking, and laughing; nothing but blurred silhouettes and soft murmurs. A man in an ill-fitting suit seems to be some kind of MC or...
Oh fuck, he's an auctioneer!
Jensen's on a stage with an auctioneer and an audience. He's about to be sold as a slave and he wants to panic. He wants to scream and cry; he needs to bolt but he can't. He can't stretch his limbs, break these fucking invisible restraints. He can't do anything but kneel with his head bowed and breathe slowly.
Beside the auctioneer there's another guy. He's a slave by choice, binding himself for five years. Jensen can't imagine why anybody would sell themselves, even for a short time. Usually the stories are tragic and sad; they need money, need to flee a life of torment, need to give up control over their lives...
Whatever their reasons are, they're not Jensen's. He's not here by choice.
And he needs to pee.
Jared is losing interest in the men on stage. There's a giant with tattoos on his arm, sentenced to ten years of slavery with no-holds-barred. He's one of the shackled exhibits and he looks grim. Another one is small, nervous looking and spooked. A musician with Enhanced fingers can be bought to use in show business.
These are not the guys Jared is interested in.
The things he could do with that fair-haired slave! He could use cock rings and whips, maybe watch him getting fucked by other men. He imagines nipple piercings and tattoos coiling down the boy's biceps and sides. He'd look stunning with some gold piercings, reds and greens highlighting his pale skin.
These thoughts are not Jared's. He doesn't like body modifications much; they're too close to Enhancements though he can appreciate some nice tattoos. It's coming from the guy sitting behind. He can't keep his mind shut, thinking out loud about his kinks and how the blond boy on stage caters to them. He's stuffing images into Jared's mind. The little hypocrite is raving about how the slave boy will help his poor old mom keep up her level of living, thinking all the while about how he will be the one the boy helps out.
It's disgusting and Jared runs out of patience. Turning round, he glares at hypocrite guy until he shuts up, clearly rattled.
Now he's able to concentrate on the gorgeous boy on stage, Jared notices the spikes of panic. They increase with every man sold. Reclining, he wallows in the boy's fear; it's as sweet and delicious as sugar.
The Chaus buy a small dark-skinned man sentenced to three years, which makes him a bargain. The Pellegrinos purchase the tattooed giant. In Jared's opinion the items are overpriced, but maybe that's to be expected when you attend one of these auctions.
Morgan's has a reputation for high-price merchandise but half the guys on stage are worth maybe half their asking price. Apart from fair-haired Sugar of course. He's absolutely top quality.
Which brings Jared back to the boy's pale skin and how he'd like to mark it up with his teeth and hands.
Society runs smoothly on slavery. Jensen never thought about it, it's just the way it is.
Some crimes are punishable by enslavement, which keeps prisons from getting overcrowded. Some people decide for personal reasons to get enslaved. In most cases it's cheaper to buy a slave than paying workers, which keeps production costs low.
Economy thrives on slavery. It's as simple as that.
“I hope it's worth it,” the man next to Jensen whispers. “It's for my wife. We need to pay for the cancer treatment. I so hope it's worth it.”
And then he's gone, ushered to the edge of the stage.
Jensen doesn't know what he looks like, he can't turn his head enough to see. All he glimpses are the back of the man's legs; looks like he could be a pencil pusher with his slim body.
So he does this out of love for his wife? Poor shmuck.
Jensen's never been in love, not yet. Sure he had a crush on Julia Feldman in high school, but it wasn't love. Maybe one day, he'll find a nice girl to settle down with, teach grade schoolers or work as an editor in a publishing house. Or he could return to his dad's farm and knock it into shape.
It would take a lot of work and learning though, a lot of patience with customers in that crappy diner. A lot more sleepless nights, a lot more tuition fees...
Sometimes it's simply too much. Too much stress, too many sorrows, too many headaches, too much life. For a change it would be nice to not care about anything, to be cared for. To just let go of yourself.
Jensen blinks. That's a weird thought, he thinks.
Two assistants come into sight, wearing crisp uniform pants and worn-out boots.
“Get up,” one of them says, and to his own horror, Jensen feels himself getting up and walking to the stage's edge. It's only a hand sign that makes him kneel again, assuming the perfect slave position.
The urge to vomit is so huge that Jensen gags.
Jared actually had to fight sleep. He'd downed another frilly cocktail and watched the audience as he waited for the boy's call. Now, finally, the time has come.
A murmur goes through the crowd and palpable excitement tugs at Jared's spine.
Sugar is moving gracefully, keeping up the perfect stance. Now that he's closer, Jared can see more details. He notices the freckles all over the boy's body and the beautiful dick hanging heavily between his legs. There's a flash of green eyes before they're lowered, his head bowed in an elegant arc.
Jared is torn between the crowd's burgeoning interest and the boy's panic. It's a silent scream and plea for help which goes unnoticed by anyone but Jared. He's absorbing it joyfully.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer says with fake glee, “meet the showpiece of Morgan's Fine Auctions. Ross is a non-Enhanced twenty year old who's agreed to ten years, no-holds-barred. He's qualified for all sorts of sex work and is an accomplished cook. He can be yours for the paltry sum of thirty-seven thousand credit units.”
For a few minutes, the crowd holds its breath, and then one of the priests raises his hand.
Of course the priesthood wants to get its hands on that tasty morsel, even at such a ridiculously high sum. It's not a good idea to oppose them either; such behavior leads straight to Hell's deepest circles. Nevertheless, there's only a short pause before another voice is audible in the silence.
Jared can't suppress a grin; it's hypocrite guy behind who's defying the priesthood. Relaxing into his chair, he enjoys the show.
It's not only hypocrite guy, it's also Pellegrino, a middle-aged woman in an ill-fitting pantsuit and a group of three men. They're the owners of a huge brothel and they're all fighting a bidding war with the priests.
Pellegrino's last bid of sixty-eight thousand credit units makes everybody gasp. With the smuggest grin Jared has ever seen, Curtis raises his gavel
And Jared casually says, “Seventy.”
Jensen can't believe what he's hearing. He's not twenty, he's twenty-two. He never agreed to anything, especially not sex work, and he can't cook for shit. That guy is lying through his teeth and the amount is ridiculous. No sane person would spend so much money on a slave.
Apparently though, someone would and there's more than one person bidding on him. Jensen's head is pounding.
This can't be real. Jensen wants to scream at the audience, tell them what happened but he keeps staring at the auctioneer's ugly boots without uttering a word. The figures are reeling in his head; forty-one, forty-six, fifty-three, fifty-eight, in quick succession. The only meaning they have is Jensen's being sold.
The auctioneer says, “Going, going...” Someone says, “Seventy,” and then it's, “Gone.”
The next thing he knows he's standing by a table with his head bowed. The auctioneer is fawning over a man he can only see the booted feet of.
“It's a fabulous night, isn't it?” the unknown man, Jensen's owner, says. Jensen can hear the smug satisfaction in his voice.
“Yes, indeed,” the auctioneer agrees. “Please fill out the contract with your details and sign here, here, and here.”
Paper groans under the weight of ink and pressure, killing a tiny part of Jensen with each stroke of the pen.
Warm hands are cupping his cheeks, lifting his head. “Look at me,” the man says and Jensen sees hazel eyes and a soft smile that makes him want to recoil.
“It's signed and sealed, Sugar. You have an owner now,” He turns to the auctioneer, who looks very contented, and continues.
“This means you're arrested on charge of illegal slavery.”
Jared is proud of his work. The radio link functioned perfectly; he said the code words before signing the contract and the members of his unit stormed the event location right on cue.
Curtis tries to run, as do many of the more dubious participants but it's futile. Being arrested at the site of an illegal auction is never good for business, regardless of whether you're a mobster or a priest.
“Hold still, Ross,” Jared says to the boy, fumbling with the collar's clasp. How he wishes he was still Sugar.
“Well done, Padalecki!” That's his boss, Jim Beaver who claps him on the shoulder. “Now reign in your empathy, will you?”
“Of course, sir. Thank you, sir.”
But it's not easy to shed the surrounding feelings. The panic and confusion emanating from the boy in front of him are just too delicious
As soon as the collar opens, leaving the pale skin of his neck slightly bruised, the freed slave looks about nervously, “My name's not Ross, it's Jensen. What's going on, what happened?”
While Beaver tells him about their suspicions, how Jeff Morgan auctioned illegal slaves and how the raid saved him from a life of slavery, Jared examines the collar.
It's an inhibitor which is quite impressive. Inhibitors prevent actions of one's own, they change mind waves and alter thought patterns. In just a few months Jensen would have been a model slave, unable to return to his previous life and not wanting it either.
Inhibitors are highly illegal but maybe Jared can smuggle it out of the station's evidence room later?
“Well, Jensen,” he says and how he loves that name. It's almost better than calling the boy Sugar. “We need your statement but let's start at the beginning. What's your address?”